


Return to Your Roots

by SpaceHotel



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Harem, M/M, Reader-Insert, Reverse Harem, Spoilers, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5586256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceHotel/pseuds/SpaceHotel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no certainty in life, and the future is forever changing. One small act set into motion decades past can be the unknowing catalyst that threatens the existence of an entire kingdom. It’s only natural then that you should question just where you went wrong, and how you could set things right. When the fate of Ooo rests squarely upon your unwilling shoulders the only path left to you is the shrouded, winding road of destiny, and thank glob you’re not alone. </p>
<p>The key to it all lies buried within your deepest memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return to Your Roots

**Author's Note:**

> My New Year's resolution is to (in theory) post a new chapter a week until completion, but you can expect any delays in my posting schedule to be outlined on my profile.
> 
> With that being said, please sit back and enjoy.

_There was something to be said of the freedom one could feel out on the open roads, a simplistic kind of liberation that swelled deeply beneath your ribcage. For a brief moment in time you could feel truly relieved from the weight of your worries, as if they all fell to the wayside like unwanted baggage. It was escapism in the form of an old red ford pickup truck you had taken two cities back, and she drove as beautifully as any beat-up automobile that had survived the end of the world—like a skateboard with rusty tin cans for wheels._  
   
          _Your fingers tapped out an uneven beat against the gritty steering wheel, your own personal symphony in the quiet afternoon. The highway was clear, devoid of crazy midday traffic with nothing but the crunch of asphalt beneath treaded tires to accompany the erratic tune of your thumping fingertips. Just you and a rickety truck at sixty-five miles per hour, with the wind’s harsh breath against your face, and a flavorless wad of gum gnashed between your teeth. The smell of burning engine oil and the smog from the groaning exhaust pipe left a peculiar taste against your tongue, acidic in a way that nearly urged you to roll up the window, but you figured it was only fitting that freedom such as this should taste so bittersweet._  
   
          _Sitting straighter against the worn leather seat, you flicked your sight towards the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of the freeway behind you. It was framed on either side by sloping mountains and cluttered debris, and just a few miles back down the road you could scarcely make out the junkyard of deserted cars you had been forced to plow through with reckless abandon. Further still the moon hung low, brushing the surface of the horizon while surrounded by iridescent lights that blossomed to life against the darkening sky overhead._  
   
          _As your left hand still clutched the wheel, you reached out and angled the mirror down until you could see the two wanderers you had picked up earlier that afternoon. They were huddled together on the flatbed, and you hoped the ride was smooth for them back there. Night was swiftly approaching, bringing the dangers that lurked amongst the shadows with it, and all too quickly did your worries return with unrelenting force. It wouldn’t do well to remain out in the open, and you needed to get them somewhere safe._  
   
          _With furrowed brows, you stuck your head out the open window and urgently called out against the whistling wind, “I’m pulling over for a sec!”_  
   
          _You gently pushed down on the breaks and eased the car to a complete stop before you reached over the pile of junk atop the passenger seat to pop open the glove department. You rifled through it hastily, rummaging through countless sheets of paper and assorted survival tools, pulling out a worn-looking map. The paper crinkled between your hands as you smoothed it out along your lap. It wasn't much, just some cheap pamphlet you had bought at the airport when you first arrived in England because you were too dirt-poor to buy a real souvenir._  
  
          _The car shook lightly, drawing your eyes towards the window, and not a moment later stood an older gentleman by your door. You spared the man an apologetic smile before returning your attention back to the task at hand._  
   
          _“Sorry, Mr. Petrikov. Just trying to get my bearings here,” you muttered, half distracted by the convoluted mess of lines along the damaged paper. “Things could get dicey if we don’t find a place to take shelter for the night. I’m just a tourist here you see, and this darn map doesn’t make a lick of sense.” Your fingers raked through your hair, pulling at the roots as you attempted to decipher if what you were looking at was a speck of dried tomato sauce or a significant landmark._  
   
          _A hand came down to rest itself on your shoulder, and with a jolt you snapped your head up with an inquisitive look in your gaze.  With him now fully in your view it was easy to finally take note of Mr. Petrikov's tired expression, the tousled state of his windblown hair, the paleness of complexion, and his dapper black suit. You briefly wondered, not for the first time that day, just what kind of life this man used to lead. Was he married with kids? Had he been happy with his family, living inside a cozy little home with hope for his future? Had he lost everything just as you had? The thought was enough to make your heart clench painfully with empathy as he returned your prior smile with one of his own._  
   
          “ _Just Simon will do, my dear. And not to worry, let me have a look at that. I’ll mark us a route.”_  
   
          _With a nod you handed the map over to Simon, who promptly walked away to sit himself on the hood of the truck. A heavy sigh passed through your lips shortly followed by the rumbling of your empty stomach, and it was with every fiber of your being that you resisted the violent urge to slam your head against the steering wheel in defeat. This wasn’t at all what you had imagined things would be like after high school graduation. You had expected something mundane and simple. Maybe you would have saved up enough money to finally go to college, buy a house, and do something meaningful with your life. All you had now was the clothes on your back, a stolen bucket on wheels, and what you could fit of the scavenged remains of a crumbling society in your passenger’s seat._  
   
          _Complete and utter exhaustion washed over you in relentless waves. The plush leather seat beneath you felt hard and uncomfortable no matter how much you slouched into it, and suddenly you had little desire to remain cooped up inside of the musty truck. Unlocking the door, you swiveled out of the seat and stretched every aching limb until you were certain proper circulation had been restored. All the while, you were more than well aware of your one-man audience._  
   
          _Still seated in the bed of the truck was a little boy, no older than nine, whose curious eyes were framed by a messy mop of black hair. Clutched to his chest was a raggedy stuffed animal, and his childlike face seemed guarded beneath your scrutiny. Your introductions earlier had lasted no more than a few seconds amidst the hectic circumstances of your meeting. Simon and the boy had all but flung themselves into the back of your truck as you drove far, far away from an onslaught of monsters like a bat out of hell. You’d been driving ever since._  
   
          _Four hours had never felt so long._  
   
          _“Marshall Lee, right?” you questioned as cheerfully as you could muster. The boy nodded his head slowly in response before you continued. “Well, Marshall. It’s getting pretty cold out, don’t you think? How about you help me clear away all the mess up front so you and Mr. Simon can sit with me?”_  
   
          _Marshall remained silent at your request, fiddling absentmindedly with the arms of his doll. Your face contorted itself into a deep cringe, your hand raising instantly to rub at the base of your neck at the decidedly tense atmosphere. Maybe you intimidated the poor kid, and you figured he probably had a rough morning—being rescued from a frenzied mob of cannibals would sour anybody’s day, you mused. You decided to try a different approach._  
   
          _Hunching over dramatically, you feigned an aching back and an elderly voice. “Come on, help an old fellow out, would you? I think my arthritis is flaring up.” Big gray eyes stared up at you blankly, and for a moment you contemplated the likelihood and plausibility of actually hearing a pin drop in silence. Your thoughts were promptly interrupted however the by the abrupt sound of laughter._  
   
          _With a self-assured grin on his lips, Marshall nodded his head enthusiastically. “Heh, you are pretty old, aren’t ya’?” he jovially agreed, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Twenty was hardly what you considered to be old, but there was no use in correcting the kid. The joke seemed to work as the boy hefted himself out of the flatbed to stand somewhat timidly by your side._  
   
          _You sent him a wisp of a smile, giving his head an experimental pat. He didn’t seem to mind the contact when you ruffled his hair and exacted your swift revenge. “Alright, you little whippersnapper. If you’ve got enough energy to be sassy, you can help me clear the front seat.”_  
   
          _His eyes lit up with mischief before he went bounding around to the passenger door to help gather up the materials you’d been collecting, little more than heaps of scrap metal and assorted broken doodads. You handed off the smallest bits and pieces for Marshall to throw into the back, gathered what was left, and together you managed to clear everything away. With the task done and dusted, he wiped his hands off against his tattered overalls before posing an innocent question._  
   
          _“What’s arthritis, anyway?”_  
   
          _Shrugging your shoulders, you waggled your eyebrows to emphasize the jest behind your words. “Beats me, kiddo. Why don’t you ask Mr. Simon a little later? I'll be he's as old as the hills.”_  
   
          _From the front of the truck the Simon was finally pulled away from his furious scribbling and map charting. “Ask me what now?”_  
   
          _Both you and Marshall shared a knowing look and a quiet laugh—_  
   
          _**—and then the beeping began.**_  
  

\---------- 

   
          You awoke with a start, wholly convinced that your heart was intent on carving out an escape route from your chest. The sheets on top of you clung to your body like a second skin, your lungs ached desperately for air, and all the while the insistent beeping of your alarm clock drilled its way through your skull to rattle your brain into coherency. With a groan you rolled over, slamming your right hand against the device before promptly curling up against the messy pile of blankets and pillows.  
   
          Mondays were the worst.


End file.
